


it might be time to face it

by docboredom



Category: Perception - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blind Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, POV First Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, vent posting, wow I really wrote a fic for a possibly non existent fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 00:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21235475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/docboredom/pseuds/docboredom
Summary: Ghosts are never as easy to get rid of as one would hope for.But Cassie Thornton knows that all too well.





	it might be time to face it

In my dreams, I can see everything.

There’s been all sorts of studies about how blind people can perceive dreams. Apparently people with congenital blindness almost never have imagery in their dreams. Same goes for people who lost their sight before the age of five. I guess I’m just lucky- even if it’s smeared and smudged like a dying watercolor painting. The echolocation my doctor has trained me in helps too. Sounds bouncing off of shapes, the world billowing around me, becoming bigger, smaller, real.

I’m in the house again when I wake up on the dreaming side of things. My mother’s. Betty’s. The Doctor’s. Susannah’s. My own.

No. Not ours. It’s been the Presence’s for some time now.

But it’s not here. It_ can’t _ be. By the Blood of Durham we killed it. Burned it and that damn mansion to the ground months ago. All that should be left was the god awful memories, the bruises long faded from when I flew from that window, the ghosts of bullet wounds burrowed deep into my skin and bones. It’s voice - static-hiss-popping - is gone, pulled on the howling winds of Gloucester’s relentless winter, purged from this world, gone.

But the funny thing about people with blindness dreaming is that it’s in nightmares more often than not.

Durham. Blood of Durham.

(Whoever you are...)

You are dying. 

(I’m not afraid of you!)

You are dying. 

(You hear me?)

You are dying.

(You. Can’t. Scare. Me.)

You’re dead.

Fire roars around me. Or maybe it’s static. The world warps with it’s call. I am screaming but there is no sound.

I am dying.

I am dying.

I’m dead.

I wake up and I am nothing but the shuddering of my body and the sweat soaked sheets around me. I fumble for the shape of my phone in the darkness and mash my fingers against the screen. Something. Someone. God. I’m heaving and I can’t get out. The Presence is everything without warning. It’s my mother. It’s Betty. It’s the Doctor. It’s Susannah. It’s me now.

You are dying.

You are dying.

You’re dead.

“Cassie?”

Serge?

“Cassie? Cassie. Hey! Cass!”

No. Not Serge. It hasn’t been Serge for months now. It’s-

“Cassie. It’s Nick.”

Oh. Oh. Oh.

Dying.

Dying.

Dead.

“Nick.” I gasp out. It’s all I know. There’s nothing. It’s dark. Not even my voice can make a dent in this endlessness. I’m scared. I can’t stop crying. I’m going to vomit if it doesn’t relent.

“Woah, woah. Hey. Hey now. Where are you? Are you okay?” His voice is so small and tinny. I can’t even begin to imagine how many leagues and miles exist between us. I press the phone closer until my ear aches from it, gulping in a deep breath. “Talk to me Cass.”

“I can’t!” I snap with every ounce of vitriol in my body, and I’m certain he’ll hang up. Serge did, after all. One day he just hung up and never called back again...

But he doesn’t. His breathing on the other end is soft and steady. Now comes the follow up. Now comes the requirement. The command. 

“I can’t.” I repeat. I can’t do this again 

He doesn’t hang up.

I pull in another broken glass breath, my lungs aching with it, my body crying out. He’s still there though, and that’s what keeps me from splitting apart. The night stretches around us, the quartered moon and our breathing the only known constants. “Oh Cassie.” He says after who knows how long, voice pure agony. “I’m so sorry, Cassie.”

It’s not so much a breaking as it is a giving out. I collapse back onto the bed and the tears begin to fall. I breathe in, I breathe out, and slowly my panting breaths begin to take shape around me. I see my fan. I see my dream catcher hanging above me, whatever good that thing is. I inhale again. “It’s…” I manage, wet and awful misery. “It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah but…” There’s a creaking in the background. He must be in a chair, sitting up, tucked in somewhere. What time is it where he is? I don’t know anything about him except for his name, I realize with a start. “Like. It’s not really okay, y’know?”

I give a hard laugh and turn onto my side. Everything is starting to settle now. The world calming down. “Tell me about it.” I huff quietly.

Nick gives his own awkward “haw-haw” kind of laugh and it’s comforting in its normalcy. It’s then that I realize that it’s been months since we’ve talked and he somehow remembers me. My name. My story. I sit up slowly and rub at my face, switching the phone to my other ear. “I hope I didn’t wake you up.” I lead in apologetically. 

“God, no. There’s um…” I hear shifting and I try to imagine what he looks like, what he’s doing. “There’s this raid thing I gotta stay up for. League.” He laughs awkwardly, like he thinks I’ll think less of him for it.

“Oh.” I say. It’s so mundane. So… boyish. “I’m uh, glad I didn’t interrupt.”

“Yeah well. I mean. It’s just a game.” He says in a small voice, stilted almost. “You’re more important than that.”

“Did you know it was me?” I ask before I can stop myself. It would make sense if that were the case, but then-

“No, no. I uh, I mean like…” More shifting then. A sigh. “Delphi doesn’t tell us who it is. It just asks if we can take a call. But I would have realized it was you and then like, you know, paused the game. Well, you can’t pause this kind of stuff, actually.” Again, that endearing little ‘haw!’ follows suit in the silence, less embarrassed than before. “I would have just logged out.”

“But your friends-” I start, grimacing.

He cuts in, sudden and insistent. “Fuck my friends. Especially if you’re not okay.”

I raise my hands to my face again and wipe at my eyes uselessly. I’m crying again. Softer this time, sadder. “Cass.” Nick says, and my heart breaks with it. “Hey, hey.”

“Sorry, I’m just…” Done. So, so done.

“You don’t have to apologize. Jesus shit.” He sounds closer somehow. I wish Nick was here, with everything in my heart. I had been so self assured with Serge, insisting that I hadn’t needed him to take care of this plague upon my heart, the Presence’s call, but Nick… Nick had saved my ass over and over again inside those walls. Without question. Without doubt. Without anger after the fact. I was never Cassie Thornton, the helpless blind girl. I was Cassie Thornton, adventurer extraordinaire. “Fucking… you probably have PTSD or some shit. I don’t know.” I hear the sound of skin hitting skin without warning, then a groan. “Wow, talk about inconsiderate. See, now _ that’s _something to apologize for.”

And I’m laughing before I can help myself.

It’s so easy. So simple. In a way I forgot it could be. I nearly double over as I begin to gasp happily. I think it startles Nick at first, because it sounds just like I’m crying, but it’s not. “Please tell me you’re okay.” He begs worriedly. 

Am I? I am. I will be. It comes in waves. It’s slowly releasing it’s hold. The Presence fading out... “Yeah, you just made me laugh.” I tell him, still giggling. He gives this small amazed “oh…” in response, like it’s the first time he’s heard it. “Hey, Nick.”

“Mm?” 

“...Thank you.”

“Oh.” He says again. Softer. Sweeter. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Well I am.” I murmur, pushing my hair back, shivering at the chill that’s crept up on me now that the heat of my adrenaline is gone. “Besides, I don’t think I got to thank you for everything.”

“Oh.” He says it third time, so small it’s almost barely a real sound. It wouldn’t leave any kind of impression on the universe if I were to try and ‘see’ it. “Of course. I mean. I still don’t believe it sometimes. I wish I had been there.”

“...Me too…” I admit, even though I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. “But you kind of were.”

“Kind of.” He laughs and finally, finally, I feel the final knot in my chest loosen up. “I uh, kind of don’t want to hang up, actually. If we’re being honest, Cass.” He says, voice rushed. 

“Oh.” It’s my turn to say it, and then I smile to myself. “Then don’t.” I tell him. 

And he doesn’t. 

And it’s not a dream. 

And I’m happy, I'm happy.

Finally.

**Author's Note:**

> Y’all ever watch a let’s play for an indie game and go oh yeah that’s my shit dude  
Cos like  
You know
> 
> Title from Tame Impala. You know I’m not THAT creative.


End file.
